


not ready to make nice

by IsleofSolitude



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Post Season 4, They all deserve better, They deserved better, alice just wants friends, eliot is out of fucks to give, fuck the showrunners, julia is not happy but she is compassionate, kady deserves better, margo is a king, mentions of all canon couples, the magicians get to rage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: Eliot, Julia, Alice, and Kady get to bitch about how they were fucked in the finale while staying in character.AKA, post season 4, the characters get a chance to deal with the ways they got screwed.





	not ready to make nice

They had settled into a little abandoned hut for the night. Privately Eliot thought it had a high chance of being a former outhouse, but he was too tired for any bitchy comments about it. 

 

Margo was dealing with their supplies and bitching about how little they had brought with them. Eliot was leaning against the questionable wall, wondering if it or his leg would give out first. Despite the pain, he felt his shoulders lower as the familiar cadence of her ranting washed over him.

 

“God dammit, we have like nothing to eat in here. I was banking on Hoberman’s cooking but that’s unlikely to happen.” Margo said angrily as she handed Eliot a slightly smushed protein bar. He took it with a grimace. 

 

“Ew, who even eats Quest bars?”

 

“People who can’t afford the gloriousness of Luna bars. Just shut up and eat it. How’s your leg?”

 

Eliot shrugged, chewing through the dry tasteless bite. “It’ll manage the trek back to the portal I’m sure in the morning. Then maybe we can find a hot tub or something and why are you looking at me like that?”

 

His soulmate’s face was a study in perplexed indignation with a promise of displeased. “What do you mean, back to the portal?”

 

The curly haired man tilted his head. “Well, we are going back to the portal, right? Back to Earth?”

 

Margo just stared at him. “Um, no? We need to get to our castle and figure out what the fuck is going on.”

 

Eliot straightened up. “Margo, we are three hundred years in the future, by the sound of it. Pretty sure it’s not ‘our’ castle anymore.”

 

“Well, of course it isn’t right now. But we need to get the 4-1-1 on this so-called Dark King and find Josh and Fen.”

 

He snorted, pain lancing through him that was completely unrelated to his leg. “Did you miss the part where we are three-god damn hundred years in the future? Pretty sure they are very much dead, even if they managed to survive a usurping.”

 

It was Margo’s turn to snort. “No, I didn’t miss that memo El, but we have at least find out what happened. Maybe they managed to get out, there’s still a chance. And if not, did you see how scared those people were?”

 

“So what, you want to go up against someone who may or may not be evil and also immortal? Even if I agreed with this sentiment—which I emphatically don’t—do we think just you and me can handle this?” Eliot felt his hand clenching and unclenching his cane, protein bar forgotten as he met Margo’s increasingly angry countenance. 

 

“I can’t believe this, Eliot! Are you seriously telling me that you want to leave some asshole on our thrones?”

“For god’s sake, Margo, they aren’t our thrones—we are three hundred years too late to be possessive of a handful of uncomfortable décor.”

 

“So, what, because time is all wibbly wobbly we no longer have an obligation to Fillory?”

 

“ _ YES _ .” Eliot hissed out bitterly, shocking Margo. 

 

“El…”

 

“Fillory has fucked us over and over and over. Don’t you think we have sacrificed enough? Maybe it’s time for someone else to save this shithole.” 

 

Margo was looking at him with a mix of disappointment and fury. “Well, sorry not sorry, Eliot, this  _ shithole _ chose me to be their king so I—”

 

“And then this shithole wanted you overthrown! They made their choice.”

 

“—have to do some—” Margo snarled at him, flexing her hands like she wanted to hit something. “Okay, fair point, but that was set up by other kingdoms, not my people. So yes, I do have a responsibility.” When Eliot rolled his eyes, she pointed a finger at him. “And don’t you want to find out what happened to the High King Fen? Who was, oh, only your  _ wife _ .”

 

Eliot dropped his food to point his finger at her. “That’s not fair.” He could feel something ugly boiling under his skin, starting to climb his throats and he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

 

“When has life every been fair, sweetie?” Margo took another step. “You really telling me you don’t give a shit about what happened to Fen? I know you talk about being a shitty husband but that’s low even for you.”

 

His blood pounded in his ears, something clenched deep in his chest, and that ugly thing in Eliot boiled over. “Of course I care about what happened to Fen. I  _ loved _ her. But she’s dead. And even if she wasn’t killed in a horrible manner, even if she got away, she’s three hundred years gone. Just like Josh. Guess you don’t get to have kinky werewolf reunion sex with your nice new husband.” He took a step closer and glared down at her. “I honestly don’t give a shit about who’s fucking Fillory from the throne, sorry not sorry, I won’t be losing sleep about Hoberman being gone. People die and all we can do is grieve. I’d rather not grieve in a fucking outhouse while hiding from some King Joffrey with a bum leg. So tomorrow, I’m gonna walk back to the portal and go find a great bar, swap the scent of opium and shit for the scent of beer and piss, and continue not caring about Fillory,” Eliot finished, breathing heavily.

 

Margo stared up at him as though she had never seen him before, and Eliot knew that tomorrow this would be one more thing that gave him nightmares—the disbelief, the near tears clinging to her lashes, the smallest tremble of her mouth. He turned away and slid down the wall.

 

Silence reigned as they got ready to sleep, sharing the small sack they had brought as a pillow. 

 

Her voice was small but strong in the night. “I’m a god damned king, Eliot.”

 

He thought about what to say.

 

_ Not anymore Bambi. _

 

_ I used to be a husband twice over. _

 

_ Quentin used to be alive and things mattered. _

 

_ I did, too. Now I’m not. _

 

_ How’d that work out for us? _

 

_ 300 years ago. _

 

But Eliot only half-considered those. All of those were somewhat true, but there was something else that mattered more. And lying here, Bambi’s hair mixing with his, and their breathing louder than their heartbeats but quieter than their pain, he knew the only thing that was completely true. He turned to press his forehead against hers.

 

“Yes, you are, Bambi.”


End file.
